


A Sister Is A Kind Of Strength

by YesBothWays



Series: Love is a Quest [15]
Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3860431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesBothWays/pseuds/YesBothWays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a poem from Gabrielle's perspective</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sister Is A Kind Of Strength

"What does it feel like to press your mouth to a woman's?"

My first sister, not one from the Amazon sisterhood, asks me.

I feel a cold, creeping pain seep into me like the air against

A wet body in deep winter as you try to get dry and clothed.

 

I know this feeling is born of this place. What feels to me

Remarkable is the simple, unchangeable fact that I was, too.

In the cradle of this place, where love runs steady but also

Meager, like the steady flow of harshly rationed foods held

Back to preserve life, I made my first discovery of this world.

 

The landscape of this place I marked in the lines of the face

Of my father that cannot fade, from shielding his eyes from sun.  

Also, in the strong, unbroken line of my mother's garments

That flow like water in a steady river that follows its course.

Time here runs on a circuit with predictable arrangements,

And the village bell calls us all to mark the remaining day.

 

The wildness I knew here I saw in horses brought through our

Village from the eastern mountains to the stables of the west.

And also in my sister and myself, as we snuck away from our

Chores and lessons, chased after Amazon travelers and snuck

Into the rafters of taverns to hear stories unfit for girl children.  

 

I take a long moment to read what is written now in the eyes

Of my sister. I wonder if the patterns of stars and the lines of

Poems we memorized were washed out, as if scrubbed with lye.

The pain in my chest may correspond to a fire in her own, now

Or Someday. So, in case, I make her the very best answer I can.

 

Like the passion of a story beating in your own body, with it

The heat and gentle movement of wine only made sweeter, a

Feeling like finding yourself someplace where nymphs play.

And more, since you cannot put something like knowing a

Lover fully, on your own terms, and quite freely into words.

 

I try for my sister. She wants to feel in the shape of my answer

The landscape of my world, and she wants to know me as I am

Now after so much traveling outside of this world we shared.

 

She tells me the story of kissing a young man in our village.

I see her glance towards the closed door even though we know

The house is empty besides the two of us, a familiar instinct.

 

She asks me, suddenly, about a boy we used to know, the first

One who kissed me, without my consent, as a young woman.

My sister was jealous, and I wound up engaged to him that year.

I have to stop and lead her through the story of my marriage,

And how I went from virgin, to bride, to widow in a single day.

 

But Amazons don't have widows, and this identity found no

Home in me, and so would not remain to shape my life after.

They don't really have virgins or wives either, as such ideas on

Womanhood do not apply, the way that they live their lives.

 

Suddenly, she is my sister again, through and through. She asks

The questions that make it all make sense to me, what happened.

She tries again to ask questions that she does not know enough

About to lead me along on the way. I must have forgotten us, or

Doubted how long our bond would endure with me far away.

 

Now it becomes easy, a simple matter of telling my first and

Best listener who shaped me as a storyteller in our girlhood

All about falling in love, about finding passion in friendship.

I tell her now about choosing, truth-telling, the fear of absolute

Heartbreak that comes of approaching, even delicately, what

You so desperately want without following anyone's lead.

 

One of the greatest delights comes to me from witnessing

A story being generously received, and I learned this love

Of mine first from my sister, so I find a particular fulfillment

As I watch her nod and respond, as she hears about this part

Of my heart. I can see her thinking over her own story now

That she has a sense of my inner world. She holds this up to

Compare with her own, as the two of us always will as sisters.

 

I catch a phrase she says that implies she has altered her

Question now that she has followed me through answering.

She says she wants to kiss someone she really wants and have

A lover on her own terms, the same way that I have now.

 

"I don't know if I can do that here," she says with a glance,

Now quite open at the door, to the rest of the house again.

"I don't know if you can," I say, as I try to imagine if I had

Tried to shape my life to this place and these expectations.

Perhaps it takes a certain kind of bravery that I don't have.

 

It will be harder for her, I'm afraid, with me gone away.

I say so, and she puts her hand on mine for just a moment.

"It makes it easier in some ways," she says. She must miss

The little shelters we carved out together to hide and grow

On our own terms in this place. A sister is a kind of strength.

 

"Kiss whoever you want, and if they throw you out, come

find me," I say. She grins at me when I say this and looks

At the door again somewhat defiantly. "I promise I will,"

She says. I have faith that together we have created a place

Of strength in her spirit that will remain when I am far away.


End file.
